Dudley Groby.
Sebastian’s bastard brother. Though, if the latest rumors held even a splinter of truth, Groby no longer meant to be called a bastard by anyone. There had been whispers—ugly, persistent ones—that he was set on challenging the circumstances of his birth.
Proof enough, perhaps, to make a claim.
“He’s bound to fail,” Gideon said.
“Is he?” Blackwell asked.
“Lovington had a legitimate heir.”
No one spoke Sebastian’s name.
Sebastian Hartwell, who ought to have been Lovington. Sebastian, who had been dead long enough that even thinking his name felt like pressing a thumb into an old bruise.
There was another relation, of course. A distant cousin. A vicar in his sixties, if Gideon had the story right, tucked away in some parish halfway across the country and only now being urged toward London to defend a title he had likely never expected to inherit.
He had the blood for it.
One hoped he had the spine.
But he was not here.
Groby was.
And that, more than anything, was what set Gideon’s teeth on edge.
“Let’s hope he shows soon.” Gideon set his tea aside and rose, adjusting his cuffs. “I’ll take my leave for now. I’ve a call to make in the morning.”
“On Dash?” Jeremiah asked.
“And his sister.”
Longstaffe grinned. “How gallant.”
“Courtesy,” Gideon said coolly. “Nothing more.”
The major-lord’s gaze danced. “Of course.”
Gideon didn’t bother to explain himself further. They all knew of Dash’s sister’s tendency toward mischief, having visited the Dasborough estate more than once in their younger years. Someone needed to ensure Beatrice Beckman did not get herself caught up in more trouble than she could handle.
And if Dash was determined to neglect that responsibility, it would fall on Gideon.
Which was why, bright and early the next morning—while most of the ton remained blissfully unconscious—Gideon found himself striding along Curzon Street toward Beckman House.
He had known Beatrice as a girl, of course, but judging by the look she had sent him the night before, she was no longer the child who trailed after her brother and his friends in the country.
She was a woman now.
And likely far less manageable.
Not that she had ever been particularly inclined toward management to begin with. It was the reason why Dash mostly elected to leave her to her own devices down at Dasborough Park.
But now that they had returned to London, Lady Beatrice would once again be exposed to the judgment of the ton.
Gideon would spare her that if he could.
She was a grown woman, certainly. And a formidable one. But Dash was absent, society was merciless, and Gideon had known Beatrice too long to pretend he felt no responsibility toward her simply because she was capable of resenting it.
